


Fear the Reaper

by the_pale_rider



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Death Guard, Gen, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gorbryas, Captain of the Third Great Company of the Death Guard Legion, is summoned to his daemon primarch's fortress to relay news of his fracturing Legion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear the Reaper

He knew the reason for the summons. He’d been expecting it ever since the news had reached him. Apparently his master wasn’t as removed from the material universe as many within the Legion thought.

As Captain of the 3rd Great Company, Gorbryas had been granted his own fortress amongst the fog wreathed mountains of the planet the Death Guard Legion now called home. The remnants of the other six companies were scattered across the peaks, where only their gene-enhanced biology and the gifts of their patron allowed them to survive. Slaves, beastmen, mutants and other fouler things dwelt in the valleys below, where the poisonous fog was thinner and thick jungle covered much of the land. All manner of creatures, natural and unnatural, large and small, inhabited those humid forests. Rumours amongst legionaries alleged that the dark and twisted jungles had come from the Garden itself, a gift from the Grandfather. Gorbryas cared not. He had far more pressing matters to be concerned with.

His lord’s fortress was situated on the highest peak of the mountain range; a vast walled manse of black iron and stone. The fortress, indeed this entire world, was shaped to be a near perfect replica of Barbarus, the Death Guard’s true homeworld. But instead of being liberators, as they had been on Barbarus, the Death Guard were now little better than the nightmarish monsters that their primarch had fought against and wrested control of the planet from. They ruled over a world of decay and misery, with their primarch occupying the place of his monstrous foster father, now long dead on Barbarus.

Gorbryas marched up to the wooden gates; the wood cracked with age and decay. The fortresses’ massive curtain walls, made from black iron, were rusted and flaking. But, like the Death Guard themselves, the fortress’s appearance was deceptive – despite the outward decay and ruin, both were built to absorb and endure horrendous punishment. Gorbryas wondered whether the even the great siege master Perturabo of the IV could breach this fortress. He doubted it. The Death Guard had always been the most relentless and implacable of the Legions. Following their dedication to the Grandfather, nothing in the galaxy could stop them.

Gorbryas, like all Death Guard, was a nightmare to look upon. His Cataphractti pattern Terminator Armour was split and cracked; some plating was missing entirely, exposing his bloated and rotting flesh. In other areas, his armour and flesh had been fused together by the warping effects of Chaos. Fat bodied flies buzzed lazily around him, living inside his decaying body. Gorbryas cared not. He was now unstoppable, implacable and relentless. He could withstand any wound and pain meant nothing to him now. The Plague Lord’s gifts had made him, and his brothers, into the epitome of what it meant to be Death Guard.

The doors heaved open, ancient hinges shrieking in protest. Gorbryas marched inside, entering the dark tunnels of his master’s abode. Moving through the silent corridors, he soon reached the doors to the audience chamber. Either side stood the silent Deathshroud, bodyguards to the Primarch. Also armoured in Cataphractti Terminator armour and cloaked in ragged shrouds, where they walked, the Reaper was nearby as they were never permitted to be more than forty nine paces from their master at any time. No one other than the primarch knew their identities. Rumour amongst the Legion persisted that those who were inducted into the Deathshroud were often lone survivors of their squads, warriors who had stared death in the face and survived; warriors of immense fortitude and will. After being personally selected by the primarch, they would be listed as killed in action to remove them from the rank and file of the Legion. Their warscythes, modelled after the one wielded by their charge, barred the ancient, iron bound doors. Gorbryas stood before them, waiting to be admitted. At some unseen signal, the Deathshroud stood to attention and the doors swung inward, creaking on rusted hinges. The hall beyond was shrouded in darkness. Unperturbed, Gorbryas strode into the gloom.

Once inside, the doors swung ominously closed. Even Gorbryas’ enhanced eyesight struggled to pierce the murky darkness. The hall was dimly lit, illuminated by burning torches and crackling braziers. Like the rest of the fortress, the walls was cracked and pitted with age. Thick, sinewy creeper vines burst through the walls, clinging the brick and mortar. The air was heavy and dry, as if an oppressive presence weighed upon the room. Unafraid, Gorbryas marched down the length of the hall, towards the raised dais at its end. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he made out the still silhouettes of two more Deathshroud, stood at the base of the dais. For the first time since entering the chamber, Gorbryas heard the wheezing rasps of a respirator. He looked up to the dais. Sat upon a throne of dark obsidian and iron, cloaked in shadow, was his lord and master, Mortarion, Primarch of the XIV Death Guard Legion. Amber eyes glinted from under his heavy cowl, staring at him intently.

“What has become of my Legion?” rumbled Mortarion, his voice low and muffled by his archaic respirator.

“Typhon”, Gorbryas spat. He refused to call his fellow captain by his new name. “He has taken the Terminus Est, its attendant fleet and his Company and left orbit. Several other chapters from various Companies have also commandeered ships and left with him. It seems your...continued absence has disillusioned some of the Legion.”

A prolonged silence followed as the Death Lord considered the news of his First Captain’s desertion. Only the rasps and hisses of his rebreather mask filled the silence. Finally, he spoke, the words blunt and direct.

“As expected.”

Gorbryas was taken aback. He had not expected that answer. “My lord?”

“Typhus pledged his loyalty and soul to the Grandfather long ago. Like those zealots Erebus and Kor Phaeron of the XVII, he believes he has a special role to play in the galaxy. It is no surprise that he has finally freed himself from me and the Legion to pursue his true purpose.”

Anger flared in Gorbryas’ chest. “But you are his Primarch! His loyalty should be to you and you alone!”

Mortarion chuckled, a dry rattle devoid of mirth. “He is favoured by Nurgle; a devout follower for many years. His loyalty has always been to Him.”

Gorbryas clenched his jaw and remained silent. He knew that the Pale King disliked open discussion. He preferred to give orders and have them obeyed.

"What are your orders my lord?"

Mortarion rose from his throne and stepped into the dim light. Now revealed, his dark presence enveloped the hall. Always a grim and macabre figure, his ascension to daemonhood and the resulting gifts bestowed on him by the Plague Lord had transformed him into a truly nightmarish figure. Inhumanly tall and gaunt, clad in filthy and cracked warplate and wrapped in a ragged grey robe and hood, he strode towards Gorbryas like the dreaded reaper from Terran myth. A string of brass censers, each filled with the toxic air of ancient Barbarus, were strung across his barrel chest, clanking against his armour. With a thump of displaced air, a pair of massive, tattered wings rose and spread out behind him, casting flickering shadows across the hall. In his right hand was Silence, the immense warscythe rumoured to have once belonged to the monstrous creature that had been Mortarion’s ‘foster father’ on Barbarus.

The Death Lord halted before Gorbryas and planted the heel of Silence down, sending tremors through the stone. He looked down, his yellow eyes glowing from under his heavy hood. Gorbryas fought the urge to shy away from that burning gaze. During the Great Crusade, stories of the Primarchs’ supernatural charisma and personalities travelled across the Expeditionary Fleets, tales of humans and even Astartes been struck dumb by their overpowering character and presence. Unlike many of his brothers, Mortarion had not being a charismatic leader. Always a grim and sinister figure, to be in his presence was to be reminded of your own mortality and the fear of death and judgement. Gorbryas steeled his mind and met his Primarch's gaze.

"With the departure of Typhus, the Death Guard will fracture and split. Many believe that I have forgotten them. Others will follow him. I will not see the remnants of my Legion fall into petty infighting", hissed Mortarion, noxious vapours jetting from his mask. "Those who leave will be allowed to do so, to follow the path set by the Grandfather. But those who remain will pledge their loyalty to me, His most favoured servant." His eyes glowed with an inner fire. "And you will replace Typhus as First Captain, and as my right hand."

Gorbryas dropped on one knee and bowed his head. "You do me a great honour my lord."

"Rise", Mortarion intoned. "I can't abide my sons prostrating themselves before me. I am no god."

Gorbryas resumed standing, his head barely reaching his lord's midriff.

"You shall be given command of a detachment of the Deathshroud, so that all will know you carry my authority", Mortarion continued, between rasping breaths. A squad of five Deathshroud appeared from a nearby alcove and stood behind Gorbryas, silent and still. "And, as a final demonstration of your new command...” Mortarion finished, gesturing to his left. The weapon lay on a plinth near Mortarion's throne. He lifted it one handed, despite its size, and presented it to Gorbryas. It was a warscythe, the signature weapon of the Death Guard and identical to the ones carried by the Deathshroud. Only those warriors who were favoured by the Reaper received such weapons. Typhon had been one of those few.

Gorbryas took the proffered weapon in both hands. It was heavy, its haft pitted with signs of corrosion and decay. The blade was chipped and notched, but he knew that it was lethally sharp and could cleave and hew through armour, skin and bone with horrific ease. It was also encrusted with poisons and imbued with Nurgle's own fell powers. Any target wounded by such a blade would quickly succumb to the most virulent of plagues and diseases, even Astartes.

"Your first charge is the reorganisation of the Legion. Merge and split the remaining Great Companies as you see fit" ordered Mortarion. "We have dwelt here long enough. I will answer my sons' restlessness. When the Companies are battle ready, return to me."

"Aye my lord", the character replied, saluting and turning to leave.

"We will return to my father's Imperium" boomed the Death Lord, making him pause. "The Imperium we built, and then abandoned us. I will lead the Legion to war and remind those petty mortals on Terra why the Death Guard were feared across the galaxy."

Gorbryas nodded and saluted once more, before turning to leave the chamber, followed by the silent Deathshroud.

As he marched through the corridors of his master's fortress, the character brooded on his master's words. Bitterness had laced those words. A bitterness born from mistrust and betrayal. A bitterness that Gorbryas knew all too well. During the Emperor's crusade to reunite humanity, the Death Guard had been at the forefront, toppling tyrants, xenos warlords and others who denied humanity's destiny to rule the stars. They freed countless human populations from oppression, just as their Primarch had done on Barbarus decades before. Their unique genetics, coupled with rigorous training, allowed them to survive any environment, no matter how toxic or lethal. Soon, they were deployed to the most hellish of warzones, fighting grinding wars of attrition on the outskirts of the growing Imperium. Against xenos, tech-barbarians and other horrors, they had used any weapons at their disposal, including all manner of deadly bio weapons. The use of such weapons created strain between the Death Guard and some of the more 'honourable' Legions, who shunned such horrific weapons. Soon, the name Death Guard became synonymous with stories of ruthless, implacable warriors who attacked relentlessly until their enemy was crushed, and the use of terrible weaponry that killed entire worlds. Few would fight beside them, their victories went unrecorded and their casualties unremembered. Bitterness and anger grew within the Legion. They had been doing what they had been bred to do. To wage war to free humanity from oppression. To fight and die for the Emperor and His Imperium.

Alienated from the Emperor, who had returned to Terra and remained there in seclusion, and disillusioned with His Imperium and the mortals that ruled in His Name, the Death Guard became close to Warmaster Horus, one of their few supporters. When Horus rebelled against their father, Mortarion lead his Legion in support of his brother, along with seven others, into a galactic civil war that they would ultimately lose. Gorbryas wished he could believe that it had been the Horus Heresy that had changed the Death Guard, but in truth, the rot had begun long before. The Heresy had simply been the catalyst that transformed the Death Guard into the horrific creatures they were now.

As he prepared to depart the fortress and begin the task of readying the Legion for war, an old memory stirred in his mind. A phrase coined by one of the mortal remembrancers attached to the Legion during the Great Crusade. Created on the orders of the Sigilite, the role of those libertines, artisans and poets was to record the deeds of the Legiones Astartes for prosperity. Unsurprisingly, these mortals did not integrate well with the Death Guard, who shunned the trappings of glory. Before Mortarion ordered them thrown off his ships, one coined a phrase that had roots in the ancient Terran image of death, ‘Fear the Reaper’. Soon, it had spread across the Expeditionary Fleets and followed the Death Guard wherever they went. Gorbryas smiled at the grim irony of phrase. Instead of the enemies of humanity trembling at the coming of Mortation's warriors, it was the Imperium of Mankind itself that would learn to fear the coming of the Reaper.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably tell, Gorbryas is a character of my own creation. I'd wanted to write a 40k era Death Guard story so I came up with him as a generic protagonist. He might have his own series in the future.


End file.
